


1-800-KID NAPD

by Thette



Series: My Coldflash Bingo [2]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Accidental Kissing, Anal Sex, Angst, Breaking Up & Making Up, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Exhibitionism, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hopeful Ending, Human Disaster Barry Allen, Kidnapping, M/M, Nudity, Oral Sex, Pre-Canon, Roommates, Student Barry Allen, Voyeurism, joe west is a complex character, leonard snart on team flash, mick rory has no boundaries, oh my god they were roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-25 05:55:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17719397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thette/pseuds/Thette
Summary: "Not exactly the Ritz, but it's the available accommodations," Lenny sneered. "If that's good enough for you, little prince?""It's not like I can complain to customer service, can I?" Barry replied, with more sass than he was really feeling. They didn't seem to be violent, and he thought he could get away with some backtalk."We've got a 1-800 number you can use," Smoke Guy said, sitting down on the couch with a can of beer. "1-800-KID NAPD."In which a failed kidnapping of a college student leads to a daring rescue from an unhealthy situation, which in turn leads to years of sharing a house, and also a happy relationship.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brookeks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brookeks/gifts).



> I was given the prompt _"Len rules Central City's underworld with an iron fist. Barry is the son of the detective trying to get Len arrested. So, as you do, Len kidnaps Barry in order to blackmail the detective. But even after Barry is "rescued" and back at home, he and Len can't help but meet again and start a dangerous affair. (But please watch out that it's not Barry developing a Stockholm Syndrome, that's not what I meant here.)"_
> 
>  
> 
> It turns out that writing a story that starts with a kidnapping and doesn't involve Stockholm Syndrome is hard, and requires a lot of time and emotional development. Hence, a story of more than 16k, with more of a hopeful ending than a proper happy one. This is a story about Len and Mick kidnapping a young college student they think is Joe West's son, to use as a bargain chip for negotiation, and all three of them coming to like each other.
> 
> A note on Mick: This is not a Coldflashwave fic, but Mick has no boundaries and he likes to walk around naked (canon). The character insisted on having a large role in this fic.
> 
> A note on Joe: I love Joe. He's a complex character, with complicated and realistic relationships with his children, biological and foster/step children alike. When this fic starts, Barry and Joe has had a falling out over Barry's choice of career, and are not on speaking terms. I'm basing this on traits and events from canon, like how he stopped speaking to Iris when she wanted a career in law enforcement, and no character bashing is intended. No character bashing in the comments either, please.
> 
> This is also written for Coldflash Bingo, for the bingo square "Pre Canon Meet". Betaed by the lovely SophiaCatherine, who made this work so much better!

_ November, 2009 _

The cotton bag over his head was uncomfortable, but not restricting his breathing, and the zip ties around his wrists, behind his back, kept his upper body immobile. The darkness surrounded him, disorienting him and making his breaths echo loudly in his ears. The attack had been sudden, and Barry never got the chance to see his kidnappers. Going by the placement of the hands around his upper arms, they were tall. One of them smelled like smoke. Not wood smoke, not cigarette smoke, but definitely burnt. Oil smoke, maybe? The heavy smell overwhelmed his other senses, and he had lost track of where they led him.

Focusing on his feet again, he could feel rough gravel under the thin soles of his knock-off Chucks. Not university grounds, then. All the walkways were paved. He scuffed his feet in the gravel, hoping to create a trail, in case anybody bothered to come looking.

"Now, now, little birdie," said a low, drawling voice by his left ear, "no Hansel-ing."

Barry could feel his kidnapper's breath on his neck, and he shivered. There was nothing he could do to stop these men. They were manhandling him into a car, probably an RV or something, going by the height of the step and the three of them easily fitting into the front seat. The one who'd warned him against leaving trails for the cops strapped him in with a two-point seat belt and told the one who smelled like smoke to do the same for himself. Considerate, for a crook. Or safety conscious. Probably the latter.

The car started with a jump. Something rattled around in the back. Time was already stretching out, making it seem like an eternity since he was taken. Barry tried counting the seconds, but he could feel he was off. He needed something to keep track of time, something that could help him know how far they were going. Barry bit his lips and started humming. It might not have been the best of luck, considering the theme of the song, but he picked Bohemian Rhapsody, because he knew it was close to exactly six minutes long. Turn left, turn right, turn left. Almost as if they were trying to throw him off.

With the timing from the song and his mental map of the city, he had quite a good idea of where they were going, and he relaxed minutely. Humming turned into singing, and when he got to the "Galileo" part, the talking one started singing the lines in reply. Barry jolted in surprise, but kept singing, and soon, they were all belting out the whole thing.

As they wound down, Barry started laughing. The whole situation was a mess, but at least, you could always count on people to sing along to Bohemian Rhapsody. He laughed, and snorted, and suddenly couldn't breathe. The bag was in his mouth, in his nose, in his eyes, and he fought to get his breath back. He didn't understand what his body was doing, but he squirmed and wriggled and tried to get away, get out, be free.

"Hush, songbird," said the talker. One of his hands stroked Barry's shoulder. "Just a little while longer, let us take you to our place."

Barry gasped, finally getting some air into his aching lungs. His heart was in his throat, beating heavily and rapidly. The darkness was closing in, making him feel buried. The hand on his shoulder felt like it pushed him down into the car seat. "Please, guys… We're in the Cornell district, not far from the harbour, and I  _ already know this. _ You can take this off, I won't get any information I don't already know, please, please just let me breathe…" 

"Picked a smart one, did you, Lenny?" asked the smoke guy from the driver's seat.

"Observant, yes," Lenny agreed, "but I don’t think it was particularly smart to let us know that."

"Please," Barry begged, and Lenny relented, taking the bag off. The dry, musty air felt like heaven when it streamed through his airways. One breath, two breaths, but his heart didn't slow down. He gulped down more air, most of it going into his belly instead of his lungs. The halogen street lights were harsh on his eyes after so long in the dark, and Barry winced and closed them again. The darkness helped, surprisingly. He calmed down, counting. Inhale, two three four. Hold. Exhale, two three four. Hold. Once the panic had receded, he leaned his head back in relief. "Fuck, thanks," he said, making sure not to look at his kidnappers, even though he could feel Lenny's eyes burning into his skin. He didn't want to provoke them into violence.

Barry followed his two kidnappers into their lair, a run-down apartment on top of an empty shop with broken windows. He didn't speak, and lowered his eyes, but he still got a good look at them. Smoke Guy was large, built like a brick wall and towering over Barry. He looked like the kind of guy who would start bar fights just for fun, like the criminals that yelled and shook the bars of the holding cells at the CCPD precinct. Lenny was trim, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, somehow looking like he just stepped out of a GQ photo shoot. They both wore all black, except that Smoke Guy wore a worn and singed fireman's jacket in khaki. Pyromaniac? Probably. Lenny had done almost all the talking, but Barry felt he had more of a grip on Smoke Guy. He was clearly the muscle of the operation. Did that make Lenny the brains? Smoke Guy's single verbal comment had indicated that.

Joe's voice rang in Barry's mind.  _ "Never underestimate criminals. They might not be book smart, but even a common street thug is intelligent, in their own way. Wouldn't survive otherwise." _ No, it wouldn't do to disregard Smoke Guy.

The stairs up to the apartment were a death trap, with several steps missing. Barry was glad they let him climb them without sight restriction. Upstairs, it looked exactly like he'd expected it to look when two criminals were squatting: the sparse furniture was ragged and barely sticking together, and large strips of wallpaper hung halfway fallen down. He caught a glimpse of a single queen sized bed in the bedroom, behind an open door hanging from its hinges. Half of the cupboards in the kitchen had lost their doors, and there were unwashed dishes piled in the sink and on the counters. Worse than the kitchen he shared with five other male students in a cheap off-campus apartment, much worse. Lenny pressed him down into the single armchair and tied his legs to the chair legs with coarse ropes. His distaste must have shown on his face, because Lenny made a sarcastic comment.

"Not exactly the Ritz, but it's the available accommodations," he sneered. "If that's good enough for you, little prince?"

"It's not like I can complain to customer service, can I?" Barry replied, with more sass than he was really feeling. They didn't seem to be violent, and he thought he could get away with some backtalk. 

"We've got an 1-800 number you can use," Smoke Guy said, sitting down on the couch with a can of beer. "1-800-KID NAPD."

Barry couldn't stop the laugh that burst out of him, and even Lenny smirked from his position on his knees. Something glittered in the corner of Barry's eye. Lenny was holding a knife with a short blade. Barry stiffened, but Lenny moved behind his back and cut the zip ties. Warm hands rubbed his, encouraging him to move his fingers. Once he was satisfied, he tied Barry's hands to the armrests. It felt so good to no longer have his arms behind his back. He relaxed into the chair as much as he could.

Lenny got up and grabbed a beer for himself, dragging a plastic patio chair from the kitchen table, so he could sit across from Barry, studying him intently.

"You've got guts, kid," he finally said. "Most people would be begging for their lives by now."

"If you wanted to kill me, you'd have done it in the alley where you grabbed me, or taken me to a kill site, not to your current squatting place. You've clearly stayed here for days, probably littered the place with DNA."

Smoke Guy guffawed, and Barry could feel a blush rising on his cheeks.

"---not like that!" he corrected. "I mean… Look at the empty bottles, the glasses and plates. I'm sure you've used the shower, too, and at least one of you have been sleeping in that bed. You're not worried about DNA or fingerprints, which means you're not taking me here to kill me. Unless you're completely new to a life of crime or incompetent as fuck, but somehow I doubt that."

"Thanks for that ringing endorsement," Lenny said, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "No, we're not gonna kill you. We're just waiting for your dear ol' dad to get in touch."

Barry's breath caught in his throat. Did that mean they were trying to punish his father from outside of prison? Was this about some gang war inside? "I hope you have a landline," he said, his voice shaking. "Can't call cell phones from Iron Heights." He worked up all his courage and stared into Lenny's eyes. His big, beautiful, blue eyes. Green? The lights were low, and he couldn't quite make out the color.

Lenny squinted at him. "Why would Detective West call from Iron Heights?"

Most of the tension in his muscles was released, violently. He slumped over in the chair, chuckling darkly. "Joe is my foster father, not my dad. And you'll be waiting a long time. We're not exactly on speaking terms right now."

"Explains the… everything," Smoke Guy butted in, and made a gesture towards Barry's face. "See, Snart, just because you're mixed, you think everyone is."

That sounded insensitive, but Lenny didn't seem to mind. Wait, Lenny, last name… Snart?

"Snart! As in Leonard Snart?" Barry's heart picked up the pace.

"The very same," Snart said, with a mini-bow.

"That makes you Mick Rory," Barry stated, not bothering to ask. Smoke Guy---no, Rory--- winked at him. He fucking winked.

Barry was so screwed.

He went over all their interactions so far. "I'm sorry," he started. "Sorry for disrespecting your home, sorry for implying you're not absolute professionals at this, sorry for---"

Snart tutted and interrupted him. "Barry, Barry, Barry, where did the sass go? I thought we were having fun. You were impressing us with those Forensics 101 lectures and pretending to ignore our threats."

"For kidnappers, you haven't actually been threatening me a lot. Not that I mind," he hurried to add, "I would like to keep my fingers, thank you very much. Joe would be really mad if you hurt me." He would, Barry told himself. They might have had a falling out over his choice of major, and the ever-present shadow of Henry's innocence didn't exactly help matters, but Joe was very protective of him.

"Barry Allen, you should make up your mind. What is your relationship with Detective West?"

Back on the couch, Rory frowned, looking this way and that, as if he was working something over in his mind.

"He  _ is _ my foster father, though not legally anymore since I turned eighteen. He's told me about you two, and he would be upset if you hurt me. But he doesn't want me to go into forensics, we had a huge fight about it, and now we're not talking to each other. Iris says I should give it another month before I call him. So, he won't miss me anytime soon, that part is true." 

It was a lot to tell a criminal, one that Joe had specifically warned him about, but Barry knew he couldn't fool Snart. _"Sharp as a knife, that one, and twice as vicious,"_ Joe had described him. Obviously, their vendetta was mutual, given his current situation. Barry just wanted to know exactly what the two criminals were planning to do with him.

"Allen, you say," Rory said, suddenly. "Father in Iron Heights."

Barry nodded, too terrified to do anything but tell the truth. Mick Rory had a reputation as a man who indulged in violence for violence sake and enjoyed the hell out of it.

"You Doc Allen's kid?" he asked, and Barry nodded again.

"Fuck," Snart said, with emphasis. "Not part of the plan."

The two of them dragged each other away to the bedroom, whispering frantically and gesturing wildly. Barry didn't know if this was a good thing or a bad thing. He drew deep, slow breaths, counting to four again, focusing on the feeling of the armchair against his back and legs. No need for panic. He was just in the hands of two ruthless criminals, with possible mob connections. Two criminals who were out specifically to hurt Joe and tried to do that by hurting him, but it seemed as if his father's name was a protection spell, at least Barry hoped it was.

"I am Bartholomew Henry Allen," he whispered, "son of Henry Jay Allen, an innocent man imprisoned for a crime he didn't commit. I will dedicate my life to seeking justice for the falsely accused and to finding the truth in all situations." It was a mantra of sorts, one he said every morning to the image in the cracked bathroom mirror. A dedication, a commitment, a vow. Today, it was a prayer.

Snart returned, looking like a school boy caught passing notes in class. Four quick swipes of the knife, and Barry was free. Snart stood back, hands held out in a placating gesture. "We're terribly sorry for the inconvenience," he said, sounding mostly sincere.

"Run along, kid," Rory said, from behind him.

All the adrenaline came crashing down, and if Barry hadn't been sitting, he'd have fallen over. He could feel tears of relief forming in his eyes, and no matter how much he tried to blink them away, some of them worked their way down his cheeks. His hands were shaking, his knees wobbly, and he just wanted to lie down and forget about the whole thing.

He must have said the last thing out loud, because two pair of strong arms lifted him and carried him to the couch. The walls were moving and the lights directly above him, shining into his eyes, were spinning.

Snart's face looked down on him, slightly paler than usual and with wide eyes. He almost looked worried. Barry covered his eyes with his arm. He did not have the energy to reassure his kidnappers right now. The room was cold. Why hadn't he felt that until now? Oh, adrenaline, yeah. He was still crying, though he didn't  _ feel _ anything at all. He was mostly blank and confused. His mouth was dry and now he was shivering.

"Kid's in shock," said one of them, and he couldn't even identify the voice.

"Can you blame him?" said the other, and now he could hear it was Snart. A blanket, smelling of smoke and sweat, was wrapped around him, and someone poked his elbow. "Water?"

Barry lowered his arm and twisted his head. He could only get down a mouthful of water before he started coughing and had to sit up. The headrush was immediate, and as soon as he had gotten the water out of his airway, he dropped his head to his knees. Bright lights danced on the inside of his eyelids.

"Crap. Does this happen every time?"

"Don't take a lot of prisoners," Snart said. Oh, yeah. They were  _ shoot first, ask questions later _ guys.

"Sloppy," Rory commented. "But see, Snart had this brilliant idea that we could negotiate a deal with West."

"You're not gonna get Joe in a negotiating mood by  _ kidnapping me, _ " Barry said, exasperatedly. "And that goes double for Iris, so don't get any ideas. You'd just piss him off, and he's stubborn as a bull when he gets angry."

"Like when he doesn't call you for months?" Snart asked.

"Like when he doesn't call  _ Iris _ for months," Barry corrected. "And she's his only child. Joe does not want us to join the force in any way."

Finally, his breathing was back to normal and his heart rate started slowing down. "Got any salt?" he asked, and Rory brought him a carton of table salt. Barry poured about half a teaspoon into his hand and licked it up, and chased it down with the full glass of water.

"Gross," Snart said.

"Should get me up and walking without fainting soon, so you'll get rid of me."

"Eh, we've had worse guests. Remember when Roscoe threw up all over the sofa in our last safehouse?" Rory mused.

"Do not speak of that lowlife asshole of a dogfucker," Snart said, with more venom than Barry had heard so far. His voice really sounded like he could kill Roscoe, whoever that was. Probably not the invisible beaver divinity of the science fiction fandom. A shiver ran up Barry's spine, and not from the cold this time. Barry decided to change the subject.

"You're really just gonna let me go? Because you know my dad?"

Snart looked at him like he was raised in a barn. "Obviously," he said, waving the subject away with a twirl of his hand. "Doc is something as rare as a good man in Iron Heights, and he's saved both our lives. I do not want to end up on his bad side. We're gonna make you as comfortable as possible until you've recovered, and then we're gonna take you back home. In return, you won't mention this to the Doc." He stilled, looking at something far away. "Preferably not the Detective, either."

Barry was sceptical. "You abducted me, threatened me, tied me up, all for leverage, and you expect me to just let it go, leave on good terms, maybe put in a good word for you?" 

Snart gave him a crooked half-smile. "It's an adventure?" he tried.

Barry shook his head, and felt his blood pressure drop again. "Well, you're not  _ wrong." _ He laughed, helplessly. What kind of a mess had he ended up in? Who were these guys, and how did they expect to keep up a criminal career when they were this dorky? Once again, he laid down until the room stopped spinning. He remembered something.

"I was picking up takeout when you grabbed me. Any chance you brought the pizza here, too? I'm starving."

"I could pick up a pizza," Rory said, already getting his coat on. "Fuck it, Snart, you're never thinking about food. Could live on wind and pretty little rose petals." Snart flipped him the bird, but didn't stop smiling. "A real man needs his food. Meat lover's for me, veggie for you. Whatcha having, kid?"

"Cheese?"

"Cheese it is." Rory slammed the door behind him, leaving Barry alone with Snart. Famous thief and notorious killer Leonard Snart. Who was currently hovering over Barry, still looking worried.

"Dude, I'm okay. I just have low blood pressure, and sometimes, I get a blood pressure crash, especially when I'm stressed. That's why I ate the salt. It's a quick fix, and I'll be fine in a few minutes." Actually, he was feeling fine now, but acknowledging that would mean he'd have to look Snart in the eyes again. "Just… Distract me. Tell me why you needed to bargain with Joe. I'll see if I can find another solution."

"How much do you know about us?" Snart asked.

"I've heard about you two. Been told to watch out, that Joe was tracking you, and that you sometimes go after people's families. That you were working for the Santinis."

Snart drew his mouth together in a weird gesture, like he'd just eaten a lemon. "That is… Half true at best. We don't make a habit of going after families, not at all. Wouldn't want anybody to go after mine, after all." Barry nodded. That made sense.

"Your dad?" A crooked cop, if Barry recalled correctly. Bad at enforcing the law, even worse at trying to break it.

Snart clenched his jaw. "Do not mention him in my presence again."

Barry held up his hands placatingly.

"I hate the old bastard. He's in Iron Heights for life, and I, for one, am thrilled." He softened. "I have a baby sister. 'Bout your age, bit older. She's the light of my life. Would do anything for her." Barry smiled at him, urging him to go on. "We were working for the Santinis, Mick and I. Until we discovered a human trafficking ring. A hundred girls, chained to the floor in a shipping container…" He trailed off, clearly disturbed by the memory. "I'm a criminal, and I hurt people. I have my limits, though, and that's one of them. And we're desperately trying to find a way for the cops to catch them. Don't like cops, but there's nothing worse than human traffickers."

"Joe is not a bad idea, but I think you'll have more luck with Captain Singh. I've worked with him on a project for my Intro to Forensics class, and he cares much more about saving people than high-profile collars."

Len considered his suggestion. "Would you set up a meeting?"

"I'll see what I can do."

Mick kicked the door in, bringing three pizzas. They smelled amazing, grease and cheese and salt. Barry could feel his mouth water. Before he knew it, he was stuffing his face with cheese pizza, listening to the two crooks ( _Len and Mick, _ now) telling him a complicated story that involved a live donkey, a jeweler's private residence, the Central City Aquarium, and two major fires.

Later that night, when Barry had made it back home to his apartment (still not as bad as the one where he spent the evening), he laid on his back in his single bed, looked up at the ceiling and wondered what the hell had happened. He wondered if this was a one-time thing, if they'd go back to their thieving and murdering ways once they had gotten their deal with Singh. He wondered if he was friends with two of Central City's most wanted criminals now.

The stains on the ceiling didn't give him any magical insights, and he preferred not to ask his roommate, who was bopping along to his loud metal in the bed next to him. Curt tended to view solutions in terms of fuck or fight, and neither made any sense in his situation. Barry turned to the wall, feeling every slate of the bed frame through the thin foam mattress, and wished he could write about this in his blog, but it was not related to the inexplicable and weird. He sighed, wishing his body could wind down so he could sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Roscoe the invisible beaver: [http://www.cdnsfzinearchive.org/fannish-fandom-history/fan-legends-lore/fan-legends-lore-p-to-t/r-from-room-770-to-roscoe/ ](http://www.cdnsfzinearchive.org/fannish-fandom-history/fan-legends-lore/fan-legends-lore-p-to-t/r-from-room-770-to-roscoe/)
> 
>  
> 
> Salt and water helps me when my blood pressure drops, your mileage may vary.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barry's living situation is unsanitary and unhealthy, even worse than usual for male undergrad students. References to binge drinking, smoking and recreational drug use (by minor characters).

_February, 2010_

It had been one hell of a day at the end of one hell of a week. Barry knew what he was getting into when he moved in with five party bros, but things had escalated the last few months. More parties, which lead to more trash to clean out afterwards, and nobody else cared about it. Last night, Huntr, "no e," had hosted one of his famous parties in their apartment, and Barry chose to spend the night in the 24/7 library. He had gotten a lot of work done on his midterm paper for his molecular biology class, but if he never had to read another article about muscular dystrophy, he'd be very happy. He made it through one morning lecture with the help of lots of coffee and a few, discreet naps in the back of the lecture hall. However, lab work waits for no man, no matter how sleep deprived, and he had worked in the genetics lab the whole afternoon. He just wanted to go back home and sleep for two days. (Or at least until his next lecture at 2 PM tomorrow.)

With a deep sigh, he unlocked the door and stepped inside, disregarding the piles of empty solo cups and the rank smell of home rolled cigarettes and low quality pot. Just another twenty feet to his bed. His sweet, sweet bed.

"Can't believe you complained about our apartment," said a voice behind him, in a familiar drawl. Barry was almost too tired to turn around, but with a last burst of energy, he did. Len was sprawled over their sofa, holding a glass filled with a sludge of cigarette butts and booze to the light as if he was looking at a diamond. Barry couldn't understand how someone could _hold_ something sarcastically.

"First you kidnap me, and now you break into my apartment? Is this some kind of new hazing method? Are my bullies paying you to do this?" Barry shook his head, slowly walking towards his bed. "I am too tired for this. You know the way out. Don't bother my roommates when you leave."

Strong hands gripping his waist turned him around, directing him towards the end of the sofa where Len rested his feet.

"Mick."

"Barry." Mick pressed him into the shabby pillows and stood back, admiring his handiwork. "I haven't had clean underwear in a week, and _I_ think this is disgusting."

Len put his feet in Barry's lap, pinning him to the couch. The gesture was not very friendly, more a show of dominance.

"Yeah, well… I don't have much of a choice. Can't afford on-campus housing, and I can't afford an apartment with less than two people per room. I just wish Huntr, 'no e,' would _clean up his shit!_ " He shouted the last part, wishing Huntr was home.

"Huntr is at his girlfriend's. Curt is out picking up more cigs," Len listed, counting them off on his long fingers. "Trent is at the gym, trying to sweat out the hangover. Taylor is in the ER with alcohol poisoning and Will is keeping him company. You can thank us for the suggestion, after we found him throwing up on the bathroom floor."

Barry groaned. Yeah, he could feel the faint smell of vomit in the air. This day was getting better and better.

"Just you and us, Barry. Just you and us."

"I haven't slept in thirty six hours. I have no ear for subtleties right now. Was that a threat, or did you come here just to diss my place?"

Len smiled, a flash of teeth in his face, gone just as quick as it came. He studied Barry intensely. "We came here to express our gratitude. Your police contacts just helped us take down some actual slave keepers. In return, we both have a clean slate."

"No longer on the most wanted list," Mick said, his face carefully blank, and Barry was too tired to try to figure out if he was upset or happy about it.

"I was thinking about taking you out for some real food, but given the state of this dump, I have a better idea. Mick?"

"Yeah, boss?"

"How do you feel about sharing the house?"

"What?" Barry asked.

"We don't really need an office each," Mick said, deep in thought. "Sure. Hey, kid, guess what? Snart likes to take in strays."

 _"What?"_ Barry asked, with more emphasis.

"We'll let you sleep on it, talk about it in the morning. Okay?" Len asked, no, told him.

Barry nodded, in pure confusion. Len rose from the couch, in a display of grace that made him look more like a tiger than a human, and dragged Barry to his room.

"Bookshelf over there is clearly yours. What else?"

"Uhhh… Linen on that bed, top drawer of the dresser, three of the shirts in the closet to the left, the small laptop, and most stuff to the left on the desk."

Mick showed up, carrying two large duffel bags, and started packing Barry's stuff as he pointed it out. Something sour burned in Barry's chest, as he looked at everything he owned. Not much.

"Hey, kid," Len said, resting a hand on Barry's shoulder, "don't worry about the contract. I'd bet 5 to 1 that these guys are going to be evicted within a month. Don't want you to go homeless. What's your rent?"

"200 a month?"

"Hah, that Huntr kid is ripping you off," Mick said. "But a deal's a deal. I'll give him next month's rent for ya." He held out his hand, and Len put two crisp hundred dollar bills into it, with more force than necessary. Mick left, and Barry surveyed his half of the room. That was it. All his belongings, stuffed into two large bags and a backpack.

That wasn't quite true. He still had a room at Joe's place, where he'd kept all the knick-knacks he'd collected in high school, the ones that weren't worthy of moving to his student housing. There were boxes of toys in Joe's attic, all that was left of his childhood. And worse, all the things from his parents' home, the things that hadn't been sold. But getting those things would require talking to Joe again, and they hadn't gone beyond exchanging polite texts.

"What? Are you saying I should move in with you?"

Len looked at him with disappointment, and tsked. "I thought you were quick on the uptake, Barry. Yes, me and Mick have a spare room, and while we're no neat freaks,  I promise we're cleaner than your current roommates. You don't have to say yes, but sleep on it and decide tomorrow. If you don't like our company, we can always help you find somewhere else to live, but you've got to get out of this trash pile." He wrinkled his nose. "It's a health hazard."

Barry sighed. This was too much to deal with. He could discuss the morality issues of potentially moving in with known criminals tomorrow. Right now, he just needed to sleep. He could feel his legs start to wobble.

"Mick!" Len shouted, and Mick came back from whatever he'd done in the kitchen. He scooped up Barry like a sack of potatoes, and Barry watched, upside down, how Len carried all his stuff. He was halfway to sleep when Mick put him down in the middle seat of the van. It felt all too familiar.

He may or may not have fallen asleep on Len's shoulder.

The van pulled into a gravel driveway, and once again, Barry was carried through a door. He could hear voices talking, but couldn't focus on what they were saying. Before he knew it, he was dropped into a soft bed (so soft!), that smelled vaguely of wood and rosemary. The scent felt like home, and so did the thick comforter that somebody wrapped around his body.

***

Barry woke up, his head fuzzy and his mouth dry as sandpaper. He smacked his lips, trying to get the taste of a long day and an even longer night out of his mouth. He had no idea what had happened yesterday, or even where he was. In a bed, which was good. Not his bed, which was bad. Almost fully dressed, which was good.

The late morning light pushed through the gaps in the heavy curtains, and he looked around, trying to get a feeling for the room and the person who lived here. He was in a queen sized bed with clean sheets and fluffy pillows, so someone who enjoyed their comfort. The room was sparsely decorated, with no clutter, but not polished and dusted. Over the small desk opposite the bed was an actual painting, a foggy bridge stretching across pale waters. Definitely classier than his own Starry Night poster. On the bedside table was a glass of water and a note.

_Morning, Barry. You have a change of clothes and a towel in the en suite bathroom. Green toothbrush is for you. Come down for breakfast when you've woken up. -L_

Yesterday started to get a whole lot clearer. The disgusting state of the apartment, the worst it had ever been. Len and Mick breaking in, and offering him a room. (A whole room to himself!) Probably not this one, though; this room seemed to be very lived in. He buried his nose in the pillows. They smelled like Len.

Somebody should have a talk with his subconscious, he told himself sternly, as he remembered how safe that scent had made him feel when he fell asleep. "Safe" was not the right emotion a known killer should evoke.

He took a quick shower and changed his clothes, before looking for Len and Mick. There were three closed doors on the upper floor, and Barry resisted the temptation to open them. The thought of moving in with them wasn't scary, and he didn't think they'd ever hurt him, but he didn't want to upset them by snooping. Instead, he meandered downstairs for breakfast. The house was not extravagant or flashy; it was a homey place, not unlike Joe's house, just with a more modern layout. The first thing he saw downstairs was the entry hallway, where the duffle bags with all his belongings rested on the floor. He huffed, melancholy. It wasn't that he was materialistic, but he wanted to be settled, to have more things than he could easily move in a regular car. Not even a rental van needed.

He opened one door, which lead into a half bath, before he found his way to the living room, which opened up to the kitchen on one side, and a cluttered office on the other side. Some of the books and DVDs in the built-in bookshelves made him smile, like the tacky Flash Gordon movie from the eighties, and the collection of yellow pulpy science fiction paperbacks.

In the kitchen, Mick and Len were eating, bickering about laundry over scrambled eggs and bacon, like an old married couple.

"I'm not saying 'Do your laundry or else,' but I am saying that if you don't do your laundry soon, you'll start to smell so bad even I won't stand to be in the same room as you," Len said, skewering a piece of bacon, as if he was arguing with the food.

"Yeah? I'll do my laundry when you do the dishes, Mr. Moldy Coffee Cups."

Barry's stomach growled, interrupting them. "Morning," he said, shyly, when they turned their heads.

"Food is in the pan," Mick said with a wave. "Plates in the cupboard." He paused. "You wash your dishes, don't you, kid?"

"Eh…" Barry could feel a blush coming on. "I do the dishes, if everybody else does them, or if there's a chore wheel, or something. I tend to leave them when everybody else does, sorry. That's how the apartment became the mess that it was." He sat down, his body still not 100 percent awake. The eggs were smooth and delicious, and the bacon just the right amount of crispy. He enjoyed the food as much as he could, knowing that they'd have to have a serious conversation later.

Once he'd eaten up, and they'd taken cups of French press coffee to the sofa, there was nothing to delay the conversation anymore.

"So… Now that I'm awake and reasonably competent to make my own decisions," he said, and Len snorted. "What exactly are you offering? And why?"

Mick answered the last question. "Look, kid, you impressed us last time, and we kinda adopted you as a mascot."

Len shook his head, and when Barry raised a questioning eyebrow, he got a complicated gesture in return. A wave of the hand, with something between a head tilt and a nod, as well as a smile with pursed lips. _I wouldn't say it like that, but he's basically right,_ was Barry's interpretation.

"We're offering a room," Len said. "The smallest bedroom on the top floor. Furniture included. It's not much. Shared living spaces. Just don't come into our office when the door is closed."

"How far is it from the CCU main campus to here?"

Mick grunted, pointing to the front door. "Line 25 stops two blocks down. Half an hour to downtown, give or take." Which would make it forty to forty-five minutes to campus, not bad. He'd certainly had longer commutes.

"And how much do you want for this? I really don't have a lot. I manage to pay tuition with scholarships and what's left of Dad's savings, but I have to work for everything else. Hence, the apartment."

Len grinned, like a Cheshire cat. "We planned for this house within our means. Buy some food, do some chores, and we'll call it a deal."

Barry stared at him. "You know, when people say something sounds too good to be true, it usually is. Is this a sugar daddy thing?"

Mick laughed, spraying coffee all over the table.

"No." Len looked affronted. "I don't…" He refused to look Barry in the eyes. "I don't do that."

"And the office, it's not a Bluebeard situation?"

"Nah, we just don't want you to have to testify," Mick said with a shrug. "Better that you don't know."

"Of course, you can't have friends over," Len said. "Especially not the Detective or his daughter."

Barry looked at his feet. "It's not like I have many friends, anyway. Nobody cares about the kid with the supernatural phenomena blog."

"Huh. Vampires?" Mick asked.

"Not so far, no."

"Don't worry, I've got you covered," he said, showing off a sharpened stake, that he must have hidden in one of his many pockets. Barry felt his eyes widen in shock. "I never go out without one."

"Mick," Len interrupted, exasperated. "Barry, are you on a speaking terms with your foster family? Wouldn't blame you if you just wanted to get away."

Barry huffed a quick laugh. "Yeah, Iris told me how to get Joe to forgive me. I sent him a Christmas card. Generic one, with a printed greeting. I signed it, but didn't write anything else."

"Impressively passive-aggressive," Len said, his eyes sparkling. "And it worked?"

"Well, he hasn't apologized, and I don't think he ever will. But we've been texting a little, and I think we're working our way towards meeting in person by the end of the semester."

"If you decide to not become a badge, I could get you a job with your CSI skills anyway. For, you know, the other side."

"Thanks for the offer, really. But I'm in this to free my dad, and I need to be on the right side of the law. Also, I'm still working on the undergrad bio classes. I’ve only taken one forensics class, so far. But really, you're willing to let me live here for free, just because you think I'm your mascot?"

"Sure." Len kept his eyes on him, steady without wavering, almost too intense.

Barry looked away and thought it over. It wasn't exactly a healthy situation, or an ethically clear one. But he was a poor student, with nothing to his name except a full course load and 20 hours of work a week. If he agreed, he could reduce his work hours and actually sleep. It sounded like a dream.

"I'm in," he said, reaching out to shake Len's hand first, and then Mick's. "I could do laundry if you collect it in hampers, and I don't mind doing the dishes."

"Brilliant," Len said, with a true smile. "Now, let's go get you a proper bed. You may be young, but your back is gonna thank you later."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: The painting in Len's room is one of Monet's Charing Cross Bridge series, that was stolen in Rotterdam. In our universe, the painting was stolen in 2012, on Earth-1 slightly earlier. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charing_Cross_Bridge_(Monet_series)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Warnings for mentions of homophobic bullying. There's also naked Mick in this chapter. Both of these things are in the second scene of the March 2010 section (after the *** divider) if you want to avoid it.

_ March, 2010 _

One of the first things Barry did after moving in was to send Joe a text, asking to meet him. He had looked through their texts, at the careful politeness, and it made him queasy. What if he'd ruined one of the most important relationships in his life? What if he couldn't patch it up, what if this was how it was going to be from now on? Christmas cards and birthday greetings, and  _ "How's school?" "Great! Almost all A's." _

His stomach was twisting, and he couldn't stop thinking about things that could happen, all through the night. His anxiety kept growing until it was time to meet Joe, two days later. Barry stood on the steps to the house where he grew up, nervously walking in circles on the front porch until he finally dared to ring the doorbell. 

Joe opened the door, smiling widely, but he offered his hand for a handshake instead of going for a hug. It smarted, and it made Barry realize just how much he missed the casual hugs in the West household. He wondered if he'd ever get anything like that with his current roommates, but he doubted it. Mick and Len didn't exactly seem cuddly.

"Barr, good to see you again. How's life?"

Barry was suddenly thirteen again, sinking into the sofa to tell Joe all about his day at school. He was still hurting, still longing for a connection, but being here? It brought out something in him. A visceral memory of a childhood, that wasn't so bad after all. "Pretty good actually. I just moved. I used to live with some party kids, and it didn't work out with my course load. Uh, so…" He rubbed the back of his neck as leaned back. "That's one of the reasons I'm here. I found a couple of other guys to share a household with, but one of them has a protected address. I didn't want to pry," and his lying skills weren't the best anyway, "but I think it might be witness protection or something."

"You're not getting into trouble, are you?"

"Oh, no, nothing like that. They're really cool guys, but I can't use that address officially."

Joe's eyebrows did that Thing, where he spoke a whole lot without saying anything at all.

"...so I wondered if I can use your house as my address, even though I don't live here for real?"

"Huh." Joe pondered the idea. "It's not insurance fraud or anything?" Barry shook his head. "And it's all above board?" He nodded. "Well, as long as you promise to never shut me out again. I'd be happy to have your mail here, but I want you to come pick it up for yourself at our weekly Saturday night dinners."

Barry laughed, relieved that their fight was definitely over. A stone he'd been carrying in his chest was lifted, and it felt like he could fly away on the sheer lightness of his mood. "And if I come to Saturday dinners, are you going to stop complaining that I eat you out of house and home?"

"Never," Joe said with a grin. "That's my entertainment." He grew more serious. "I missed you, Barr. You're part of my family. Iris missed you, too."

This was it, he needed to say what was on his mind. Iris had bowed before Joe's silent treatment, but he couldn't. He couldn't let go of his father, even if it would cost him his foster father. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for a possible rejection, even after everything. "You know I'm not changing my mind about forensics?"

Joe sighed, for once looking his age, all fifty years of it. "It's gonna kill me if you get hurt." He rested a hand on Barry's shoulder. "But I guess forensics is better than actual police work. I know you're not changing your mind, Barr, and I love that you're so stubborn. Sure would make my life easier if you weren't, though."

"Of course you raised a stubborn kid. No, two. It's not as if I lack role models." Tears were pooling in his eyes, but he fought them with everything he had.

"Oh, come here, squirt," Joe said, also looking like he was about to cry. He hugged Barry, and Barry melted into his arms. He had missed the comfort, the love, the family.

He resolved to never fight with Joe like that, to never pull the "you're not my real dad" card again. He wasn't a perfect parent, but he loved Barry, and Barry loved him. 

"I missed you, Joe," he mumbled into his foster father's shoulder.

***

Barry picked up his books, binders, pens, and notebooks. Didn't want to leave them lying around in the living room, didn't want to bother Mick and Len with his school things. His chemistry course required two heavy textbooks, and he had three binders with lecture note printouts. It was tricky to walk up the stairs, balancing the heavy load, but he managed to do it without hurting himself or anybody else, focusing completely on the floor. Upstairs, the door to the bathroom opened, and Barry's attention was diverted to the sudden sound. Mick walked out, naked, without even a towel for cover. Barry yelped, twisting his feet around one another, and dropped the books, falling down on the floor.

Mick laughed, but it didn't sound like the way Barry's bullies laughed when they had caught him looking at naked boys in the shower. It was warm and loud, like Mick always laughed, like there would be a friendly slap on his shoulder in the near future. "See anything you like, kid?" he asked.

Barry could feel himself blushing, a wave of warmth rising from his chest to his cheeks. He looked at the curtains, at the ceiling, at his dropped books, anything to not ogle his housemate. "Uh…" Eventually, he failed, and Mick seemed to have been waiting for it, because he was showing off his body, with his arms outstretched by his hips. Mick's chest was broad and muscular, but not overly sculpted, more like a Greco-Roman wrestler than a bodybuilder. He had white scars on his left side, where chest hair didn't grow, a marked difference from his other side, that was rather hairy.

Barry definitely didn't want to admit that he checked out the rest of him, too.

Behind him, Len chuckled. "Yeah, he does that. I hope you don't have a problem with nudity."

"Don't like the way clothes feel, some days," Mick said with a shrug.

Ever since that incident in middle school, when the bullies figured out he wasn't straight long before Barry did, he had avoided communal showers and changing rooms. He was used to taking a change of clothes to the shower, so he could avoid being seen in a robe, because that was too undressed for comfort. He was used to everyone around him having a similar attitude. (Except Curt, who sometimes would make out with his partially undressed girlfriend in the living room, to everybody's discomfort.) He had definitely never seen anybody with such a casual attitude to his body as Mick. Once he got past his immediate discomfort, it was kind of refreshing, actually.

"I think I could learn to live with it," he said eventually.

"Good," Len said, sounding satisfied and kinda smug. "And now you know why I never sit in his chair."

***

_ April, 2010 _

Little by little, Barry started to feel at home in the house he shared with Len and Mick. There were postcards on the fridge, most of them from Iris on her sabbatical in South America, and his schedule next to them. Barry was the one who bought a Pokemon shopping list, and put it by the door. (Within an hour, there was an arrow pointing towards Charmander's tail, with "Mick" in Len's blocky handwriting.) His books were lying around in the living room, and he knew full well that Len would read them and comment sarcastically on the methodology in the margins. Once, he'd kept an argument going with Thompson and Thompson over several chapters. The comments always made Barry smile, but they were also good for his learning, and he found himself making some of the same points in class.

One day in late April, he looked around, and realized he hadn't felt at home like this since he moved out from Joe. The biggest difference was that he'd come here as an adult, not a child who had to be told what to do. They had chores, of course, and negotiated about them. 

Mick still wouldn't do laundry, said it was the texture of wet clothes he couldn't stand. Barry had shrugged, and taken over drying and folding, as long as Mick could put his own clothes in the washer and turn it on. Folding clothes while half-watching TV was always Barry's favorite chore, especially if the clothes were warm from the dryer. Meanwhile, Barry tended to forget about eating, especially if he was busy with something. He could go all day without eating, especially if he had to cook. Mick liked cooking, and would make sure they were all fed and happy, even Len, who never took the initiative to eat a meal. At least once a week, they were barbequing, watching Mick watch the fire while he grilled perfect sausages and burgers. Barry and Len reminded each other to pick up their clutter and dishes, respectively. About every other week or so, one of them would get fed up with the dirt, and they'd poke each other into vacuuming and cleaning the bathrooms. It was a system that worked.

***

_ May, 2010 _

Len mostly did his paperwork in their closed office, but one Saturday evening in late May, he sat with a notebook and his laptop outside on the patio. Barry figured he probably wouldn't mind company, since he was working in public. Just in case, he brought them both a cup of coffee, so he'd have an excuse to be there.

Len twitched a smile without looking up from his notes, and raised his cup in greeting. Barry picked up his own book, one of Len's pulpy paperbacks.  _ Invasion of the Martians, _ it was called, and it was, as expected, so bad it was good. The blond, muscular hero wielding a raygun was busy seducing the alien queen, and Barry snickered.

"'Come, let us save both our worlds, together!'" Len quoted, in a ridiculous bass voice.

"This is  _ so bad," _ Barry said, shaking his head. "I can't believe people read this non-ironically." No, real heroes were nothing like the dastardly Stan. Real heroes cared about people, even when they didn't have bosoms that were heaving dramatically. Real heroes saved people, and didn't kill an entire race of sapient beings to do so. (An entire race, minus the pretty humanoid ones with heaving bosoms, of course.)

Like always when Barry thought about heroes, his own father came to mind. Henry would deny the title, like the humble man he'd always been, but before he was incarcerated, he'd been a hero. Saving lives was his job as a cardiac surgeon. Saving people was what Barry wanted to do, too, not just save his own father.

Though sometimes, he wondered if he'd ever be called to gather evidence against Mick and Len, and what he'd do if that day ever came.

Barry put the book down, desperate for something else to think about. "Whatcha doin'?" he asked with an intentionally childish lilt, semi-jokingly. He didn't really expect Len to answer.

"Budget," was the terse reply.

Barry kept looking at him, until he put the notebook down.

"Really?" Len asked, one sceptical eyebrow raised.

Barry shrugged. "I'm bored. And I really don't care about Stan and the Martian queen." 

"If you insist…" He showed Barry his three neat columns, with categories in one column, and income and expenditures in the other two. Barry's own contribution was the smallest part of the income, about half of the food budget. (Which, admittedly, was large for a three person household. Both Barry and Mick needed lots of food.) Most of their money came from passive income, according to Len's numbers, and most of the expenses were related to the house and to re-investments. It was a clean budget, looking like the ones Barry and his classmates had been making up in Home Ec in junior high. One of the categories was confusing.

"Money to burn?" he asked.

"Mick's discretionary spending," Len replied with a quick grin. "The title is to be taken rather literally."

"I want a kiln!" Mick shouted from the living room.

"Then save up like a goddamn adult!" Len shouted back. "Do you think the HOA will be on our asses if we make charcoal in the backyard?" he asked Barry, much quieter.

Barry smiled. "Probably. They're already complaining, though. Especially after the barrel of coal he set on fire last month." He looked over the numbers again, running a careful finger along the categories column. "This is some impressive adulting. Do you keep to the budget?"

"I always have a plan," Len said. "A plan and a back-up plan. And I cushion the budget by ten percent, that I put away in savings if it's not used. Haven't had a financial emergency in fifteen years, and I never want to have one again."  He looked at his numbers again, flexing his fingers and rubbing them with his other hand. It looked like he was reminding himself of something. "Never getting into debt again, either."

Barry knew what it was like to wonder where his next meal was coming from, to eat any free food left out from meetings and events. From the way Len's voice hardened at the mention of an emergency, Barry suspected he had been in even worse situations. He wished he knew Len better, that he could find out more about what made him into the man he was now, always poised and controlled. But no, it was too soon to ask. He'd just withdraw, or maybe even kick Barry out.

Barry took their empty cups, and left with a little wave. Len waved back, with the three middle fingers of his right hand. For anyone else, it would have been dismissive, but Barry had learned to read the small gestures of both his housemates.

***

_ June, 2010 _

For the first time in his college career, Barry had the time and money to take summer classes. Two weeks into the semester, he realized he hadn't had a tension headache since the spring semester finals. He was working hard, but still felt relaxed. No stress making his shoulders draw up to his ears, or his heart beat in a rapid staccato rhythm. His stomach wasn't eating itself, and he could sleep at night.

"Huh," he said out loud to his empty room, "so this is what it feels like." He started thinking about what exactly it was that had relieved the stress. First of all, he was no longer scrambling for money, saving every penny he could get his hands on. He had even quit his night job at the local electronics warehouse, only keeping the minimum wage research assistant gig for his favorite professor. That was probably fifty percent of his issues, right there. Whatever happened later, he knew he could never repay Mick and Len for their generosity.

He was back on good terms with Joe, and his father was as safe as he could be in Iron Heights. Henry had recovered from the pneumonia of last winter, even if it took months. Iris wrote him almost every week. The distance was doing them both good; he'd finally gotten his long-standing crush under control, and could enjoy her friendship for what it was.

But the biggest difference was that he had company. He didn't live here for practical purposes, he lived here because he enjoyed spending time with Len and Mick.

Sure, Mick could be scary, and he was usually not much for talking, but whenever Barry was stressing about his school work, they'd go out back and "study organic chemistry," which was their code for burning stuff. For science, of course. If it hadn't been for his ambition to clear his father's name, Barry would have pondered a career in fire and arson investigation. Trying to understand accelerants and burn patterns was fun! 

He couldn't count the number of nights he'd spent studying in front of their fireplace, watching Mick enraptured by the flames, while Len drank cup after cup of tea under a blanket on the sofa, watching them both. The way Len studied him, his eyes never missing anything, should have scared him, but it was strangely comforting.

While Mick had accepted Barry as a friend easily, taking to him with punches to the shoulder and friendly noogies, Len had been standoffish at first. Barry couldn't help likening him to a cat getting to know a new family, so he did what he had done with Mittens, Iris' adopted rescue cat, whose previous owners had neglected and starved him. He smiled at Len, making room for him in their activities without pressure. He let Len take the initiative, all the time. 

After two months of Saturday morning cartoons, Len had put his feet in Barry's lap. The first time it had happened, back in Barry's old apartment, it had been a gesture of dominance. This time, it felt much more friendly. Barry looked down, smiling, and rested a careful hand on Len's bony ankles.

Len didn't withdraw. The casual contact was the first step, and it accelerated from there. It took them a matter of weeks to go from casual physical contact to lying on the sofa, with their legs tangled or almost on top of each other.

Every time Len touched him, a little spark of something within him would cheer, but Barry would rather eat poison than admit it. He couldn't, wouldn't get a crush on his handsome, but very unavailable, housemate.

***

_ August, 2010 _

Slowly but surely, Barry moved his geeky stuff from Joe's house over to their house. An action figure here, a comic book there, some pop sci books the next week. One day, he brought out his Lego Death Star. It had been disassembled at some point since high school, and he sat down on the living room floor with the four thousand-ish pieces spread before him. It had been a long time since he trusted a space enough to do a project like this, with an exclusive collectible. Barry was deeply focused on doing something he loved, and didn't even notice Len sitting down cross legged next to him.

"Should have known you for a Star Wars nerd," he said, the voice jerking Barry out of his concentration.

"Eeek!" he shouted, sending gray building blocks flying.

Len laughed, but picked them up for him. He read the worn instructions, and helped Barry get the right pieces for the next step. They built for hours in silence, letting the sphere grow.

"Return of the Jedi was my first Star Wars film," Len said, cautiously. "I was twelve. Wasn't allowed to watch it, so I sneaked out, getting into the theater by the back door. By then, I was great at picking locks. Loved the movie." He combed his fingers through the remaining pieces, picking up a control panel and studying it carefully. "VHS edition of A New Hope came out when I was in juvie. My grandfather sent it to me, and we watched it, all twenty of us boys. Still like Return better."

"Slave Leia was your sexual awakening, then?" Barry asked, with a twist of his mouth, hoping to bring some levity into the conversation.

"Who wouldn't love Leia strangling her captor with the chain he uses to hold her? But no. Luke in the black outfit."

"Good choice." They fell into silence again, Barry thinking deep thoughts about Luke Skywalker. Some time later, he spoke up again. "So, what do you think about Clone Wars?"

"Clone Wars?"

"I can't believe you haven't seen Clone Wars. Mick!" he shouted. Mick grunted in reply, and poked his head out from the office. "Have you seen Clone Wars?"

"What's Clone Wars?"

"Okay, I know what the three of us are doing on Saturday mornings from now on. No if, ands or buts."

Mick snorted. "No butts." Len threw a highlighter at him, and managed to get in a hit. Barry just groaned.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some sex scenes in this chapter, with some exhibitionism/voyeur thing going on, and some mild spanking. If you want to skip the sex, it's in the February, 2011 and the June, 2012 sections, where the second scene has Mick watching, but not participating.
> 
> Do note the tags. I say "Breaking Up & Making Up" and "Angst" up there. There is a happy ending, I promise. A hopeful ending, at least.

_ January, 2011 _

The first kiss came as a complete surprise. Barry had more or less known that Len was flirting with him, but didn't know how to handle it. One morning, when he picked up the last of his things for his classes, and ran around like a fool trying to find his laptop charger, Len came from the living room, charger in hand, and stuffed it into Barry's backpack. Then he kissed him, like it was something they did every day, just a short press of lips. Barry stood there, stunned, and Len waved him off.

"Have fun, Barry," he said, pressing a brown lunch bag into his hands.

Barry was already late, and had no choice but to run to the bus. His plans to review his notes from the last lecture was shot, and during the whole forty minute trip, the only thing he could do was to touch his lips, trying to feel if the kiss had been real.

By lunchtime, there was a single text on his phone. Not from Len, but from Mick.

_ what did you do??? you broke snart _

_ sorry sorry sorry _

Barry panicked. Then he realized that Mick probably deserved a bit more of an explanation, and that he definitely didn't want to be faced with an angry Mick when he got back home.

_ But he was the one who kissed me. _

Not even a minute after sending that, he got a reply. Even the notification sounded smug.

_ lisa ows me fifty _

_ 8====D (_*_) ;-)  _

Barry picked up the phone, and dialed instead of answering. "Mick? Yeah, never, ever do that again." He slammed the flip phone closed over Mick's deep belly laughs and pressed the power button. Nope. Not dealing with that right now.

When he got back home, Mick's motorcycle was gone. Through the window, Barry saw Len sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee in his hands. The warm light, in contrast to the pitch black darkness outside, illuminated his beautiful, downturned face, painting his forehead and cheekbones in gold. Barry felt like he was watching a Rembrandt painting: ethereal and gorgeous, but real and approachable at the same time, and so very domestic. Something inside him twisted with longing.

Oh, damn.

He'd gone and fallen for a thief. For his housemate. For  _ Len. _

Len must have heard him, because he looked up, just barely catching Barry's eyes, and then turning away again. No use running now. Barry opened the door, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Hi," he said, wobbling a little on the vowel. "Uhm, so…" He dropped his bag and went into the kitchen. "Should we talk?"

"What's there to talk about?" Len didn't meet his eyes. He looked completely focused on his coffee, stirring the milky drink vigorously. The spoon clinked against the ceramic, loud in the silence. Barry waited until Len felt like talking again. 

"I made a mistake. Let's just pretend it never happened." He still wouldn't look at Barry, glancing out through the window.

A black hand gripped Barry's heart and squeezed. He wished he could have had this conversation before he knew what he felt for him. It would have hurt less. Probably.

"What if we don't? What if I liked it, and want it to happen again?"

Len finally met his eyes, but he didn't look happy. He looked like someone was pinching him, hard. He looked at his hands, clenching them into fists and unclenching them again.

"When you…" He trailed off, dragging a hand through his buzzed hair, pulling Barry's attention to the few streaks of gray. "Remember when you first came here, and what you asked? I said that I don't do that. But I'm nearly twice your age, and I'm paying for your housing. If we got involved, how would it not be a sugar daddy situation. How could you say no?"

Barry came up closer, and put one hand on Len's shoulder. Handle him like a cat, not frighten him away.

"I am an adult, and I  _ want _ this. I can move back in with Joe if you don't want me staying. I can say no if I want. Try it, ask something outrageous of me."

"Would you help me steal the Picasso that's on exhibit next month?"

"Nope," Barry said, popping the p. "Try again."

"Would you wear a collar and kneel for me?"

"Not my kink, but I'd give it a fair shot if you're into it."

"Would you have sex with me when Mick is watching?"

"Hmm… Tempting, but not until we're well past the honeymoon phase," Barry said with a wink. 

"Barry Allen, that is a lot kinkier than I expected from you!" How could Len make his Ls long and drawn out like that? It was almost like he was singing, in that low and sexy drawl.

"Don't get fooled by the innocent look," Barry replied, coming in closer, and letting his breath warm Len's neck. "I have a very vivid imagination."

***

Later that day, as they lay in bed slowly caressing each other, Barry started talking slowly about something that had bothered him.

"I'm not asking about what you and Mick do, I understand that it's better for me not to know. I just…" He trailed off, letting one hand drift to the back of Len's head, feeling the stiff, short straws of his buzz cut hair. "I know things aren't black and white, of course I do." He paused, listening to Len's heartbeat, a slow and steady rhythm. "I just wish… I just wish nobody had to die."

"It's not like I'm killing for fun. I'm not the Joker, and Central City is not Gotham."

"I never thought you were, because if I did, I wouldn't be here."

Len smiled, a soft little quirk of his lips that was reserved for Barry. "Our business is… risky. Don't want to make any promises I can't keep."

"Not a promise, then. A resolution?" Barry pleaded.

"I can live with that." It wasn't anything official, and Joe would definitely not think it was enough. But a resolution to keep from killing, it would have to be enough for Barry. He knew there was good in Len, even if he wasn't Lawful Good and never would be.

Well, considering his own record of breaking into places to investigate the unknown and blog about it, Barry didn't exactly qualify for Lawful Good, either. He pondered his criminal history, none of it on the books. Maybe that was the biggest difference between them. He had gotten away with his "youthful indiscretions" while Len and Mick got caught. 

That, and none of them had had a decent father figure in their lives. After that first day they had met, Len avoided talking about his father, but Barry knew enough from the bits and pieces he had been able to put together. The scars on his lower arms also told a story, and Len had chosen to keep his shirt on when they had sex. Barry guessed it probably was because he had more scars, and wasn't comfortable enough showing them yet. Mick talked about his mother and his sister, but never his father, and that, in itself, told a sad story.

Barry had been lucky enough to have two fathers, who both loved him very much and believed in him. Fathers and a solid middle class home, and that made all the difference.

He sighed, not wanting to dwell on the topic, and burrowed closer to Len, who was warm and close. Well, warm except for his chilly feet, that he rested on Barry's calves.

***

_ February, 2011 _

This was not what they had planned at all. The idea was to take a quick shower after sex, before dinner. Instead, Barry was leaning on the shower wall, with Len on his knees before him, giving him an enthusiastic blowjob. He'd never get tired of watching Len, watching him use that gorgeous mouth, sliding his clever fingers over what he couldn't swallow.

"When I was your age," he said, letting go of Barry's cock with an obscene pop, "I could get two orgasms a day, at most. But you, you're insatiable."

Barry groaned. "No, I'm very satisfied." Len snorted a laugh around his cock, and the vibrations made Barry shiver. "Soon," he said, pulling at Len's hair to get him off.

Len opened his mouth wider and pulled Barry closer instead, his nose brushing against Barry's hair. Nobody had deepthroated him before, and he loved it, coming with a shout and nearly pulling the shower curtain down.

As he came down from his orgasm high, and the water started running lukewarm instead of hot, he realized that they hadn't brought clothes to the bathroom. Barry dried off, wrapping a towel around his waist. Just a few months ago, he'd have felt awkward about his body, but now, he was too fucked out to care. Len rinsed the last of the suds from the shower floor, and patted himself perfunctorily with the towel. He made no move to wrap himself in the towel, and Barry definitely wasn't complaining.

Len pulled him towards his bedroom.

"Thought you two would be done by now," Mick said, from where he was leaning against the bannister. "Food's almost done. Get dressed. No dicks at the dinner table."

Len guffawed, and tried to twist his towel into a whip to smack Mick, without much success. Barry winced and tried to shelter his body with his own arms, the threat bringing back unpleasant memories of middle school.

"Hey, kid," Mick asked, "still fussy 'bout bein' naked?"

Barry smiled at him. "Thanks, Mick, but I don't care about that any longer. I've seen it all by now. Just… No towel whipping, please? Len?"

Len ruffled Barry's hair. "Of all the things to be sensitive about… Sure."

Mick turned around and started walking down the stairs. "Five minutes, or I eat your chicken fried steak," he said over his shoulder.

***

_ April, 2011 _

Being in a relationship with Len didn't change much. They'd gone past the get-to-know-you phase, straight into domestic territory, and that made Barry certain they fit together. He already knew Len's annoying habits, and had made peace with them. It didn't change their dynamic with Mick, either. He was just the same loveable asshole as always, and didn't treat "Len's boyfriend Barry" any different from "our mascot Barry".

Sometimes, Barry wished they could go out on dates, like normal couples, but he knew the CCPD all too well. Even if Len had been granted amnesty, and as far as Barry knew, he wasn't a suspect in any ongoing cases, the police had a long memory. All it would take was somebody spotting him in a museum or an art gallery, and they'd take him in for questioning. If anybody saw him with Barry, word would get back to Joe lightning fast, and Barry would be in so much trouble. They'd mutually agreed to keep their relationship within the walls of the house, even if Barry sometimes felt claustrophobic.

Len tried his best to make up for going out, by cooking for just the two of them, taking the time to light candles, and make the kitchen feel cozy. Mick's meals were hearty, all-American comfort food, while Len's cooking tended to be modern French or Louisiana creole.

"Mom was from Louisiana," he explained, with a small, secret smile. He never talked about his mother. "Before…" he paused. "Before she fell ill, she used to do these slow cooked dishes. Spent all day in the kitchen, and you could smell it from across the street. She didn't like the shellfish here, said it wasn't fresh enough. But she cooked the best pork, the most delicious game. I learned a thing or two." He held out a spoon with sauce, and Barry tasted it.

"So good," he said, suddenly ravenous. He could barely even begin to guess the spices in that liquid. "How long until it's done?"

"Two more hours," Len said with a laugh. "Go have a snack. Can't have you starving." He gave Barry a pat on his belly.

***

_ May, 2011 _

Barry went about his courses with a spring in his step and a smile on his face. He couldn't even tell if the other students still were bullying him, because he couldn't care less about them. He kept his interactions with them polite and friendly, without ever letting them get close. After all, how could he make friends if he couldn't invite them home? And he had no desire to go out to drink himself stupid, even now that he was over 21. Why drink overpriced beer in a bar where he couldn't hear what anyone said, when he could take a cheap beer in companionable silence with Len and Mick? Or, if he was honest with himself, while having animated arguments about nothing with them.

No, he was happy with a boyfriend and his two friends, Iris and Mick. Why would he need more friends? Especially school friends, friendships that rarely lasted beyond the finals, anyway.

Iris had noticed how happy he was the week after his and Len's first kiss. He'd confessed that he'd met a man that Joe wouldn't approve of, but he couldn't tell even her more than that. She teased him about his "mystery man," and tried to get him to come clean, so Joe would focus on Barry's dating life instead of hers. (Her last girlfriend? Too many tattoos. Her last boyfriend? Cheated on her, so she left him and tried to swear off dating completely, to Joe's delight.) When she teased him with that sparkle in her eyes, he remembered why he used to be in love with her, and he couldn't help but think how much fun she'd have with Len, if they ever met. Unless Barry got enthusiastic about something, he trailed off a lot and got lost in what he planned to say. Iris and Len were both snappy and brilliant at wordplay, and he loved that about them. Sometimes, they'd spark a little something in him, too, letting him match wits with them, play off their jokes. 

Joe remained sceptical. He was genuinely worried when Barry told him he couldn't bring his boyfriend to family dinners, but backed off tentatively after the "witness protection" lie. Still, Barry would catch him sending worried glances, especially when Barry would read a text from Len.

"Joe," he eventually asked, "will I or Iris ever meet anybody who's good enough for you?"

Joe huffed. "I reserve the right to disapprove of anybody who could hurt my kids."

Barry shook his head. If Joe hadn't been so stubborn, Barry was sure he and Len would get along. They were both protective of the people they loved. He'd heard Len say pretty much the same thing about Lisa's boyfriends.

On the other hand, he carefully avoided getting to know just what exactly Len and Mick did to make money, on the principle that what he didn't know, he couldn't tell anybody else about. He had no illusions that it was all above board, but he just didn't think they were bad people.

...which, come to think about it, could be a problem when he was ready to join the CCPD. But that was almost two years away. A problem for a later day.

***

_ June, 2012 _

Barry moved his hips slowly, trying to ride Len's cock just right, working hard to get some of that prostate stimulation goodness. Len had been so damn horny when he got home, so horny he couldn't wait for them to get undressed and up to his bedroom. For once, Barry had been the one to need longer foreplay. But now, he was on his way there, nearly there, just a little bit more. Len's hand around his cock squeezed and stopped.

"Don't stop, Len, keep going," he moaned, bracing against the back of the sofa for leverage.

"Uh," Len said, his hands dropping down to the cushions.

"Don't stop on my account," Mick said from the door.

Barry looked Len straight in the eyes. "It took me nearly an hour to get here, and I'm, like, five minutes away from orgasm. Don't you fucking dare stop."

"Didn't you mean 'Don't you dare stop fucking?'" Mick said, amusedly, as he sat down in the armchair. Barry could hear a zipper opening, but he just didn't care.

"That, too." He picked up the pace again, and Len brought his hands up to his back and licked his nipples. By the way Len's hands trembled as they stroked him, Barry could tell he was getting close to his second orgasm. "Just a little bit more, I just need more."

A hard slap on his ass had him keening and grinding down harder. His heart was drumming in his chest, almost unbelievably fast. He devoured Len's mouth with hungry kisses, his own hand working his cock as fast as he could until he came, covering them both in sticky cum.

Behind him, he could hear a hitch in Mick's breath, and the sounds of movement stopped. Len wasn't far behind, small movements of his hips driving his cock deeper into Barry.

As he came down from his orgasm high, his head started spinning. "Blood pressure crash, blood pressure crash, put me down," he gasped frantically. Len quickly turned them over, letting Barry lie down. He hadn't come, so he pulled out, throwing the condom away and jerking himself until he came, all over Barry's chest.

"You okay?" he panted.

"Noooo…" Barry whined. His heart was racing, his whole body shaking, and he was dizzy.

"Water and salt? Or do you want an energy drink?"

"Crap, no, just water and salt, no caffeine." Len left to get supplies, and Mick's heavy footsteps echoed from the direction of the bathroom. He threw a wet washcloth at Barry, before walking up to his own room. When Len came back, and Barry had licked up some salt and drunk a full glass of water, he was acting shifty, looking at everything but Barry. Barry had no patience for his evasive behavior. "Spit it out," he said, maybe a bit harsher than he intended.

"That… That was not planned," he said, leaning away. Oh. Barry remembered the conversation after their first kiss. Was Len worried that Barry would think he was testing his boundaries?

If he'd been sitting up, Barry would have shrugged. "Obviously." He closed his eyes, letting the salt work its magic. He was still dizzy, but feeling a little bit better. "You had no idea I'd be slow today. And we should have been in your room in the first place."

Len snorted. "True. Not that we haven't all seen far too much of Mick before, anyway."

"You should help me upstairs, so you can see far too much of me."

"No such thing, Barry," he said, reaching down to kiss a line from Barry's navel to his sternum. "I can never see enough of you."

***

_ September, 2012 _

One day, Barry came home to an empty house. It wasn't unusual, per se, but it felt emptier than usual. He ran upstairs, to Len's bedroom, hoping to get a clue from what was missing from the closet.

The painting on the wall was gone, and so were all of Len's favorite clothes. The picture of Lisa at the regional championship in figure skating when she was 15, Len's well read science fiction paperbacks, even the "secret" stash of cash in small bills, all gone.

The bed was made, and there was an envelope on top of the pillows addressed to him.

_ "Barry, I'm sorry. _

_ You should move, but the rent is paid until you graduate. Don't go looking for me. -L" _

His whole world deflated. The calm blues on the walls turned gray, and the sun seemed covered in clouds. Iris would call him overly dramatic, but Barry didn't care. He was alone. He'd thought… He'd thought they had loved each other, but if Len just left? With a note, not even a proper farewell, as if the years they'd had meant nothing. Barry had loved him, still loved him, had dreamt of waking up next to him every day for the rest of their lives.

And now? Nothing left, just three sentences in blocky letters, black ink on white paper, barely even an apology. He drew a shaking breath, wanting this to be a nightmare, but he knew in his heart it was real.

Barry collapsed onto their bed. It still smelled like Len, that woodsy and herbal cologne he used, mixed with Barry's own citrusy scent. It smelled like the two of them, together, a painful reminder of their relationship. He inhaled deeply, burrowing down into the evidence that their life together had been real. This was all that was left, and if he washed those sheets, there would be nothing but memories.

He needed to get away.

Fighting the tears that were threatening to run, he called Iris, and tried to explain.

"Just like that, like a thief in the night?" she asked, and oh, that hurt. Barry was not naïve. He knew Len's lifestyle must have caught up with him. He should have known better than to get involved with a criminal. A shiver ran down his spine. What else had Len taken in his rush to leave?

Except Barry's heart, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.


	5. Chapter 5

_ January, 2013 _

It was just a few days after graduation, and Barry had already secured an interview at the CCPD. With Joe's help, of course, but there'd always be a need for forensic scientists in big cities, and CCPD was notoriously overworked and backlogged.

"Mr. Allen," Captain Singh said, shaking Barry's hand, "congratulations on graduating. I'm glad you chose to stick with law enforcement, despite pressing personal reasons to go into other fields."

"Joe? Yes, it was an issue, but that was years ago. We've made up, and he supports me now. He even recommended me for this position.

"Yes, Detective West's overprotective attitude was concerning, but that's not what I'm asking about."

"My dad? I still believe he's innocent, and I wish to go back to the evidence to prove it."

"You understand why I absolutely cannot let you do that, Mr. Allen?" Barry nodded sadly, and the captain moved on. "What I'm asking about is an incident in early 2010. Remember when you set up a meeting between me and two wanted criminals, which lead to one of the biggest organized crime busts during my career?"

"I remember."

"I never found out exactly how you knew Mr. Snart and Mr. Rory."

"It's a long story?"

"Nice try."

"Youthful indiscretions?" Captain Singh just stared at him. "Okay, but I told you it's a long story…" Barry settled in, trying to get the whole thing to make sense. "Snart and Rory kidnapped me, hoping they could get close to Joe, to negotiate with their knowledge of the human smuggling ring. It was a really bad idea, and they understood that, and released me. I set up the meeting because I wanted to, not because they forced me."

"Is this the full extent of your involvement with them?"

Barry winced. "I don't know what you know…." Singh raised an eyebrow, telling Barry he probably knew more than he was letting on. "Fine. They got me out of a bad living situation, and I moved in with them. I never saw anything that suggested they were doing anything criminal." It was not quite a lie, but he'd been careful to keep out of their business. He paused, considering. "Well, some of the things I burned with Mick probably violated local ordinances."

Singh choked. "You… burned things with Mick Rory?"

"For science!" Barry said with a laugh. "Yeah, it was fun. Mick isn't as bad as people make him out to be. He's just gruff, but he's got a heart of gold."

"Would you say the same thing about Leonard Snart?"

Ooof, a direct hit. "That's… complicated." Singh waited. "We were… involved. For a year and a half. He left, without saying goodbye, and he broke my heart."

Singh looked down at his hands, fiddling with a ring. He took a deep breath, and when he looked back at Barry again, he was wearing a determined look. "I want you to know that I have no problem with you being gay? Or bi?"

"Bi," Barry said.

He nodded. "As a gay man myself, I've faced a lot of prejudice on the force, but we're getting better, and I keep a sharp eye out for any homophobic tendencies among my officers. That's not my issue. My issue is that your boyfriend was a criminal."

"At the time, he had a clean slate. Remember that?"

Singh sighed. "I do. I don't know if that was the worst judgement call of my career, or the best, but I was the one who arranged the amnesty for Snart's and Rory's crimes. Barry, you can't tell me you were so naïve you didn't know how your housemates, your boyfriend, made a living?"

"We... " He took a deep breath. "We never discussed that. I didn't ask, and they didn't tell."

"Did you see any evidence of criminal activity while you lived with them?"

"No," Barry said, with absolute certainty.

"That's all I needed to know. I want you to know that I need to discuss your possible employment with HR, our ethics representative, and Internal Investigations, but I see no obvious disqualifications, from what you've told me."

***

_ October, 2014 _

Barry ran, the wind whipping his face, feeling free like he never had before. If he wanted to, he could run, run away, run wherever he wanted. But now, he had a job to do. Great power, great responsibility, and all that. He needed to stop this armed robbery before anybody got hurt.

One ski mask guy down, two, three, and then he swiped the last one down, the one who had been on the back of the tow truck. The robber's helmet clattered to the ground, and he removed his mask. Barry froze, his legs no longer cooperating. He fell, tripping over his own feet.

"Len?" he said, but he'd already run a mile further away, and the robber-who-could-be-Len couldn't hear him. He turned, ignoring Cisco's questions over the comms, and closed his eyes to gather strength. If this was Len, he'd chosen a life of crime over their relationship. It hurt, but no longer as sharply as it had hurt him two years ago. Barry ran back, getting there just in time to see one of the robbers shoot a guard, and to see the back of their jackets as they sped away on their bikes. Dammit. He needed to take care of this. "Where's the nearest hospital?" he asked, and Caitlin guided him.

***

He knew he needed to tell Joe, but he couldn't. Len was still on Joe's Most Wanted List, even though he no longer belonged on the CCPD's list. There was no way to start that conversation without coming clean about his "mystery man". Instead, Barry brought out his A-game as a forensic scientist. He found the shards from the van door, shattered from liquid nitrogen. He carefully recorded tire tracks from the motorcycles, and from the stolen tow truck. "No prints. These guys are pros," he said.

Later that night, once the evidence was processed and registered, Barry went back to STAR Labs to find Cisco.

"We're friends, right?"

"Yeah, duh," Cisco replied.

"Can I ask you for a favor, that you absolutely need to keep secret?"

Cisco lit up, delighted to be in on a secret. Barry smiled in return, leaning on his friend's shoulder, and enjoying the physical comfort.

"Joe does not know this, and Wells can never know." When Cisco nodded in confirmation, listening intently and chewing on his Red Vine, Barry continued. "I saw the face of one of the robbers, and it was my ex boyfriend."

"Dude. Duuuude! So, first of all, bi fistbump, and second, you have a thing for bad boys?"

Barry laughed, and bumped Cisco's fist. "Bi fistbump! And no, just him. If you saw him, you'd understand. Can you track him?"

"You still have his cell phone number?" Barry shook his head. "That would have been my first choice. Let me see what I can do with traffic cameras, though it might take some time to hack them. I'll give you a call in the morning."

Cisco bent down over the keyboard, fingers tapping out a rapid rhythm. Barry said his goodbyes, and Cisco shot him absent minded finger guns over his shoulders.

***

"Leonard Snart has been spotted at the Central City Museum," Joe said over the comms. "I knew he was up to something."

That wasn't how Barry had hoped it would go. He'd wanted to find Len, and confront him in private, not when he was cornered by half of the uniformed officers of the CCPD. He suited up and raced to the museum, with his comms off. 

Len shot the ground in front of a police car with something that looked like ice, from the muzzle of a weird gun. The car skidded, but the driver managed to get it under control. Barry had the chance to grab Len, carrying him off over his shoulder. They were well outside the city when Barry stopped, dropping Len to the ground in a clearing in the woods. Barry held on to the ice gun.

"Well, well, well," Len said, slower and with more of a drawl than how he usually spoke to Barry. "'The Streak,' if I'm not mistaken." He rose slowly, with perfectly controlled movements, and leaned on one of the birches.

"I prefer the Flash," Barry said, too weary to bother vibrating his vocal cords.

Len stopped. He stood perfectly still for a second, and then he removed the goggles he wore and tilted his head. "Barry?" he asked, none of his criminal persona left.

Barry pulled his cowl back and stepped closer, getting all up in Len's face. "Yeah? You thought you could just  _ leave me, _ and what? That I'd forget all about you? What was so good about stealing that you had to skip town?" He paused, taking a deep breath. "And speaking of stealing, you asshole, you took my Phantom Wedding comic! It belonged to my mother!"

Len laughed, leaning back again. "I can't believe that's what's on your mind."

"It meant a lot to me, okay?" Barry shook his head, feeling weirdly relieved after getting that out in the open.

"I wanted something to remember you by. And used underwear is so tacky."

"Len…" Barry chided.

Len tipped his head back, closing his eyes. "Two days before we left, a Santini goon tracked Mick down. He described our house, our cars,  _ you, _ and he said that if we didn't cooperate, he'd kill you." He opened his eyes again, but it took him a long time to face Barry again. Barry didn't know how to read him. Was this regret? Shame? Avoidance?

Len spoke again, slowly. "We had to leave. We did one last heist for the mob, got them to agree to leave you alone, and left. Didn't come back until six months ago. I wanted to get back in touch, but…"

"I was in a coma, locked away at STAR Labs." Barry filled in the missing pieces of the story, of Len looking for him and maybe worrying? 

If somebody had threatened him, it was no wonder Len had wanted him to move out. The house had been filled with happy memories turned painful, so he had moved as soon as possible. The thought of a mobster killing him in his sleep made him shudder.

"And now you're a superhero?" Len raised an eyebrow, disbelieving.

Barry stepped back, grinned, and  _ ran, _ showing off as much as he could. He stopped in front of Len, but no longer close enough to kiss or punch him. (He still didn't know what he wanted to do.) Lighting sparked from his hands, fizzling out on the dry grass. Len grinned at him, looking delighted, the way he had looked when Barry had done something brilliant.

Barry stilled. He needed to tell someone about this, and once upon a time, Len had been the person he'd trusted the most. He wondered if he could ever start trusting him again, after he had left. The biggest advantage was that he knew the story, from before. Barry took a deep breath, preparing himself for the revelation. "Remember what I told you about how my mother died?"

"The man in the lightning?" Len's eyebrows were raised, and he was completely focused on Barry.

Len remembered, and Barry felt a warmth bloom inside his chest. He had promised himself to be careful, but the feelings bubbled up anyway. He needed to tell Len about this. "It was impossible, but now I'm the impossible!"

Len laughed. "You've always been impossible, Barry." He reached for the cold gun. "I stole this, specifically to have a weapon that could stop you." Barry shivered, wondering if this was it, if Len was going to come after him. "I can take out other speedsters, too. Let me help, Barry. Let me slow him down."

Relief washed over Barry, relief at being believed and supported. A voice in his head kept repeating warnings, the words he had told himself when Len had left. Just because Len was on his side didn't mean he could let his treacherous heart love him again. He needed to show he was willing to stay, before Barry could trust him properly.

"Don't think everything is forgotten," he said, trying to keep his voice stern. He must have succeeded to some extent, because Len looked away. "No killing, can you promise that this time?"

Len hesitated. When he spoke, it was in a quiet, determined voice. "No killing unless absolutely necessary, Barry. I will protect myself  _ and you _ with lethal force."

It wasn't what he wanted to hear, but the giddy flare of hope he immediately tried to suppress told him he had accepted their deal. "I… I can live with that." Barry held out his hand, and Len took it. He squeezed, hoping against hope that everything would be okay.

With a whoosh, he scooped up Len in his arms, in a bridal carry this time, and ran towards STAR Labs.

***

"...and where is Mr. Allen? You said you could track him by his comms, even when they were turned off? Leonard Snart is a formidable opponent, especially with  _ your _ gun in his hands." There was nothing of the gentle mentor left in Wells' voice. He berated Cisco in a cold, hard voice. Cisco didn't even reply, but Barry could hear him breathe, in short, broken gasps, like he was trying hard not to cry. Barry would do anything to avoid that tone directed at him. Len raised an eyebrow, looking at Barry with his face in full analysis mode, and then his face changed. He visibly took on the mantle as the dramatic villain, as he strutted in to the Cortex. Barry shuffled after, just a few steps behind.

"If you can't beat 'em, join 'em," Len said, holding his arms out wide.

"Captain Cold," Cisco breathed. Len grinned and bowed. He was going to be insufferable with that new nickname.

Joe raised his gun, and Barry raced in front of Len. "Don't, please don't," he said. "Nobody shoots anybody here. I convinced him it'd be just as much fun to join us instead of fighting against us."

"Barry! He's a thief and a killer!" Joe's voice was high-pitched and stressed, but he had lowered his gun as soon as Barry stepped in.

"I know. And I'd much rather have him on our side."

"Detective West," Len said with a smirk. "How nice to meet you again. Do you have any  _ substantial _ claims, or do I have to call my lawyer? Again?"

"You're a suspect in five high-profile thefts and a murder," Joe said, his face locked in a frown.

"And if you had any evidence, I'd be under arrest already." He looked insufferably smug, and Barry wanted to push him into a wall and kiss that smug look off his face.

"Mr. Allen," Wells interrupted, still chilly, "care to explain your reasoning?"

"Look," Barry said, turning to Joe, "I know you've got a feud. I'm asking you to put it aside, for me. Let us work together, and if we meet the Man in Yellow, Len has a weapon that's effective against him."

"'Len?' Since when are you on a nickname basis with Snart?" Joe narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Barry chose not to answer the question, but he knew Joe wouldn't let it go. He foresaw a prolonged interrogation, but hoped he could postpone it. "When he betrays you, I'm gonna be here, telling you 'I told you so,'" Joe grumbled.

"We don't need him. Anybody can wield that cold gun," Wells said.

The cold gun whirred as it powered up. "And I'm the one who does," Len said. "Barry, a word?"

"He knows your identity?" Cisco shrieked, and Barry mouthed "Later" in his direction.

They walked through the corridors, Len looking at every corner and growing increasingly agitated. He didn't stop until they were outside, hidden from the entrance by a grove of aspens, standing close enough to whisper. "Do you really need cameras in  _ every _ corner?" he asked, exasperatedly.

"What cameras?" Barry asked. 

"You should be careful with Wells," Len whispered, his breath hot against Barry's neck, bare with his cowl down. "I have a bad feeling about him." 

Len's presence was intoxicating, but he was trying hard not to fall back into old habits, to not press him up against the wall and kiss him breathless. He took a step closer, and Len did the same, so close and yet not close enough.

Screw careful. Screw waiting. Barry lifted his hand, stroked Len's cheek gently. He leaned into Barry's touch and nuzzled his hand, a look of deep longing on his face. Barry was reminded of the night they had talked about their first kiss. He couldn't resist Len any longer, bringing him in for a bruising kiss.

Barry wanted to take him, to erase the past, to make Len his own again. Len licked into Barry's mouth hungrily, meeting his every move. His gloved hands took a firm hold of Barry's back, slipping slightly on the tripolymer. Barry pushed him against the wall and tried to keep him there. If he never let go, Len couldn't disappear on him again, right? 

When he needed to catch his breath, he leaned his head on Len's shoulder, trying to get his heartbeat under control. Len slid out of his arms and looked at him, a mischievous smirk on his face. Barry could feel his cheeks burning with arousal and embarrassment. If he looked anything like Len, his hair must be ruffled and his lips swollen, but he couldn't care less. 

"Let's get back to your geeks, see if my skills can be of use. Coming, Barry?" he asked, using the double entendre to full effect.

"I'm not that easy," Barry replied, grinning, though he really was. 

Oh, this was going to be fun.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Thank you for reading! Like I said, I couldn't make this a full happy ending, but it's a hopeful one. If I ever have the energy to do a full S1 rewrite with Len on Team Flash, I will. (Spoiler: They get back together, but it's not friction free.) 
> 
> My parents had a copy of the Swedish edition of Phantom Wedding, so I'm adding a bit of personal nostalgia here. Turns out, it was never released in comic book form in the US, so Nora had the issue imported from Australia. ;-) http://www.phantomwiki.org/Phantom_Wedding 
> 
> Comments and kudos give me life, and I appreciate each and every one of them, even if I'm bad at replying.


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